In the Nightlands - Part Four
Iron Born Capital St. Joseph, Missouri February 28th Hekration sat down on the bench in the common room of his house, his body shaking in shock and exhaustion. "We're going to have to cut your tunic off, Hekration," British Army doctor Samuel Crowell said. Scythia pushed her way past Crowell. "No. Wait," she said, stepping up next to him. "Young lady, I don't think..." "Do you want me to throw you out of here on your ass?" Broc Beag growled at the doctor. "Everyone take it easy," Hekration said. "Give her a..." his sentence was interrupted as his fourteen year old daughter probed his shoulder with strong, sure fingers. He grimaced, continuing, "... a minute.. doctor." He looked at his wife. "Come here." Broc Beag stepped to his left side. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "I'm alright." "I know you are," she said shortly, still glaring at the doctor. "Hold still!" Scythia snapped. "You're worse that Tjerd." He clamped his jaw as she moved his arm. The two London barristers looked like they might be sick at the crunching sound from the joint. "Tjerd?" Captain Collin Miller asked. "One of her horses," he answered. The Fulmene in the room and Captain Miller chuckled. Broc Beag was glaring at the non legion members currently crowded into their living room. Hekration leaned his head toward her and squeezed her waist. "It's alright, they are friends." She just turned her glare at him. "It's out of joint again," Scythia said professionally. She looked over her shoulder at the doctor, looking him up and down with a critical eye. "How strong are your hands?" she asked. Her assessing gaze brought a laugh from Captain Miller. The doctor looked affronted. "Strong enough." "Alright, then you can help me," she ordered. The doctor puffed for a moment then set down his bag and took off his coat. "When I say, pull. Don't jerk, just pull strong." "I've reset dislocated joints on many…" "Not my father's," Scythia interrupted territorially. "Now are you going to do it or not?" "Scythia..." Hekration said. "Be quiet and don't move, you're not in charge here," his daughter said, her eyes never leaving the doctor. "Are they normally... like that?" he heard barrister James Huntington-Meath ask Scathach. She just grunted affirmatively. "Of course," Crowell said. Hekration gritted his teeth as they rotated his shoulder back into the socket. The two barristers recoiled at the loud pop of it finally moving into place. He let out a long breath as the pain faded. Scythia was working the shoulder carefully. "Now we can take his tunic off." "It would have been faster to cut it," Crowell said. "We don't waste fabric in the Legion," Scythia said, standing up confrontationally, almost in contact with the doctor. "We've never had that luxury." "Scythia, that's enough," Hekration snapped at her. "Come here." He levered himself to his feet between his wife and daughter and they helped him strip off the soaked tunic. Scythia tossed it into a bucket on the canvas they'd laid on the floor. His torso and arms were streaked red with blood as were his buckskin colored trousers. They walked him to a table that had been inclined so he could sit up partly and helped him onto it. He gestured to the doctor. "Doctor Crowell." Crowell stepped up, looking between Broc Beag and Scythia. "With your permission?" "You can help," Scythia said grudgingly, taking a cloth from the bucket of water and starting to wash the dirt and blood off of his chest and arms. He looked past them. "Scathach, how are we doing?" She nodded. "Everyone's quiet. Catellus’ friends seem satisfied that this was dealt with by tradition. The Iron Born senators are concerned. That's good for us." Captain Miller looked between them, "How so?" Dr. Crowell cried out painfully. Hekration turned and Scythia was twisting Crowell's wrist, turning the syringe in his hand away from him. "What is that?" she demanded. "Scythia!" he snapped at his daughter. "Let him help." Crowell made a painful face. "It is an anti-tetanus injection. I don't know if he's had one... ever." "Scythia," he said again, putting a hand on her arm. "Let him go." She turned her eyes to him. He could see the fear behind the mask. "It's alright. I trust them." She let go of the doctor's wrist. "Yes, Father," she said and then looked away from his eyes concentrating on cleaning his wounds. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her tight against him, putting his head against hers. He felt her shudder with a sob and then she pushed away, going back to working on his wounds. Scathach filled in the uncomfortable moment. "The senators have seen that he's willing to die to ensure that the Iron Born senate succeeds.” "Is that something you can use?" Captain Miller asked the barristers. They were silent, staring at his bare torso and arms. Their eyes traveled over the numerous scars and the bleeding wounds revealed by Scythia's cleaning. Ropes of burn scars marked his arms and torso, climbing up onto his neck "You got those on the Ishtar?" barrister Jean Smythe asked. "Saving London?" He opened his mouth to answer, but Broc Beag broke in angrily. "Yes. He did!" Her restraint boiled over. "What more does he have to do to prove he’s loyal? Hundreds of us have served and died for the Empire when we couldn’t even say who we really were!” she yelled, her orator’s powers nearly shaking the glass in the windows. “And now you have Sian in prison and call us traitors! What more do you want from us!” Hekration knew when to keep his mouth shut. Broc Beag’s outburst seemed to set the non legion members on their heels. The barristers, Doctor Crowell and Captain Miller looked at one another uncomfortably. “All we’ve ever wanted was to be PART of British America,” she said. He could see the effort she used to calm down, the diplomat pushing up again. “It’s all any of us have ever wanted.” Barrister James Huntington-Meath's expression changed. He looked shrewd, the tremendous intellect suddenly spinning behind his eyes as clear as a lighted sign over his head. "Could you testify to that." He nodded to her. "Just like THAT, in Philadelphia?" he asked. Now it was Hekration's turn to feel uncomfortable. A wide predatory smile spread across barrister Jean Smythe's face. "She's brilliant."